


watercolour dancer

by peppermintteababy



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, Good Boyfriend Park Jimin (BTS), Jimin dances for you, boyfriend Jimin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:33:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22047946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintteababy/pseuds/peppermintteababy
Summary: Jimin dances for you
Relationships: Park Jimin (BTS)/Reader
Kudos: 18





	watercolour dancer

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on ARMY Amino over a year ago; thought I would share here. please let me know if you see any errors!   
> using "Yoona" instead of Y/N bc I hate Y/N.

When Jimin leaves the bed this morning, early and silent, you awake. Even with his smooth movements and soundless steps, you feel the absence of his body’s weight beside you and your brain registers his leave. You feel him lean over to place a soft kiss on your cheek before he heads into the bathroom to prepare himself for dance practice, but you choose not to respond, the sleepy ache in your chest suppressing your urge to pull him back down into a cuddle. You want to sleep longer and bury this lonely feeling beneath dreams of warm light and brown sweaters.

A little later, you hear the stove click and light as Jimin goes about the kitchen making breakfast before he leaves. A whiff of paprika and pepper drift into the bedroom, followed quickly by that subtle, powdery rice scent from the noodles Jimin often bought. Coupled with his quiet humming, the sounds of his activity lull you back into a light doze. Your breathing deepens and you slip back into the dream folds of cotton and candy.

You wake with a start, your eyes popping open and your heart beating like the rumble of a stuttering engine. The dream you just pulled yourself out of lingers on your mind with a bitter, dark taste. You can’t remember the what happened, but the emotions you felt during claw at your skin, begging to stay and submerge you in fear. You rub at your eyes and try to slow your breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Each breath shakes your core.

To find something to ground you further back into the real world, you peer about your bedroom, taking stock of the neatly folded blanket you and Jimin had used to cuddle up together while reading last night, the tiny tea green succulent on the windowsill bathed in mellow gold, the many photos pinned on the wall across from the foot of your bed. You listen intently to the eerie lack of sound in the entire apartment, an indicator you are still alone.

Today is your break day from uni, no class, no due assignments, just rest. Last night you had brought this up to Jimin, hoping maybe he could take a few hours in the morning to help you clean up the apartment and set up your workspace. You haven’t painted in several weeks due to an overload of classwork, and on this break, you want to get back into it before your fingers started to forget how the brush handles felt, worn and flush against your skin.

The week before, Jimin had his members over for a lunch and vlive game that required the entire living room. They’d moved all the furniture out and covered the walls in plastic to protect against stains or scratches during their food fight. Afterwards, they had cleaned it all up and to make up for keeping you away from your workspace for so long, Jimin had brought back the couch and television and you all crammed together to watch sports and dance competition reruns. Only Taehyung, Jin, and Hoseok could stay though, as Namjoon and Yoongi had some business yet to attend and Jungkook wanted to get a head start on recording his next cover.

Jimin had checked his schedule and spoke briefly with his leader, but they were in the middle of promotions and, as you expected, he couldn’t be spared. Not that you mind, of course. When he and you made the decision to set up a temporary art studio in his living room so you could see him more often, you acknowledged that wouldn’t mean he could rearrange his schedule at all around for you. It was merely allowing you closer to his person in between each busy moment and cluttered glance. You still lived for the most of the week at your own apartment, all of your belongings in their proper places there; you still slept in your own bed and ate in your own kitchen out of your own expense when he was overseas, but when he returned at the end of promotions or tours, he was yours.

The digital clock beside you shines a shivering white, 8:40am. You’d only slept in almost three hours, yet you still feel exhausted. Your limbs sink into the mattress, winding between the blankets like needles in a cross-stitch cover. You groan and turn over, patting down the empty space Jimin had left. You frown. Your phone is the next thing you grab for; check your messages first, then pop onto Twitter to see if any of your followed have posted something new. Nothing catches your eye, so you close the app and shut off your phone.

Before you make your own breakfast, you shower and dress lightly in the clothes you brought yesterday as your second - some knitwear, leggings, and a pageboy cap. Since your painting space hadn’t been set up quite yet, and -  _ you pop open the window, no rain, just a brisk chill, a peek of sunshine _ \- the weather happens to be rather pleasant, you decide a walk around the city will certainly cheer you up and boost your inspiration reserves.

You like strolling down the main street of the neighborhood over the best. Cherry blossom trees are planted along the walk and during the spring, they would bloom and let their petals drift to the earth, dusting the ground and any who stood beneath the trees in a snowy pink. While it is Autumn now and the buds are closed up and flushed a dainty tea rose colour, the avenue retains it’s warm and welcoming aura. You pause there, order a coffee from a corner store, and settle yourself in the outside seating area to draw.

Your sketchbook pages service multi-mediums, giving it a fibrous texture that can absorb heavy moisture from paints and watercolours while also well suit the graphite of your pencils. Intermittently sipping your coffee and sketching from your imagination and the scenery about you, you spend several hours distracting your mind from the disappointment of missing time with Jimin on your day off. It is only when your stomach starts to hurt and your legs turn numb from sitting for so long in the same position, you check the time on your phone, 12:10PM.

The moment you close your sketchbook and stand to toss your coffee cup in the bin beside the cafe’s door, your phone buzzes. You glimpse the caller ID before picking up.

“Jimin-ah, have you eaten yet?” You chirp into the receiver, softening at the tender tone in which Jimin responded.

“No, not yet, ddong-ah. Have you?”

“Ah, no. Me neither."

“Are you home? Let’s eat together.”

Both your lips and heart quiver into a smile at that. You tuck your sketchbook and pencil into the tote bag you brought along and adjust the security of your cap, brushing aside some strands of hair that had fallen from their place your ear.

“Of course. I’d love that,” you answer. “I’ll be home soon.”

“Oh?” Jimin’s voice peaks with curiosity, “What have you been up to?”

“I’ll show you when you get home, Jimin-ah,” you purr, “I think you’ll like it.”

Jimin’s chuckle resounds over the phone, an unrestrained bundle of joy and interest. You love it when he laughs, reveling in the happiness that overwhelms those that listens to such a bright and enchanting tone. “I already do.”

You can tell from the pair of Oxford leather shoes resting by the door that Jimin had returned to his apartment before you. Though you hadn’t walked far, you were still on foot, and he likely caught a ride in a taxi or had his driver drop him off. You slip out of your flats and into a pair of slippers by the door, calling out to your boyfriend of your arrival.

“Yoona?” Jimin peeks out from the left of the corner into the foyer. “Come here.” He holds out his arms.

A rush of tingly happiness fills your chest. You drop your artistry things beside your shoes and sprint forward to embrace him, clasping your hands behind his neck. He holds your waist and picks you up, planting a delicate kiss on your lips. 

“I missed you, ddong-ah.”

You kiss him back, though when you moved to pull away, he leans in further to deepen the kiss. Humming in pleasant surprise at his forwardness, you enjoy the sweet embrace for just a moment longer.

“I drew you,” you say as you prance back over to the door to retrieve your sketchbook and pencils.

Jimin leads you over to the couch and takes you onto his lap. “Show me.”

You beam as you flip through the newly filled pages of your sketchbook to show off your spread of figures, sketched in fine and flowing lines, all depicting Jimin, with his signature eye-smile and his bangs tousled neatly into a part over his forehead drawn in a scribble of black, in various forms of movement. Each figure mirrors a position from Jimin’s contemporary dance-like choreography for his solo song, “Lie”. Written in graceful curves, Jimin’s sketchy doppelganger whirls across the page, adopting the creamy background as his stage.

“They still feel a bit stiff,” you murmur, watching Jimin’s rapt gaze scan the page as he rests his head on your shoulder and leans into your form. “If I had a model to reference instead of just my imagination, I think I could have done much better.”

Jimin’s eyes twinkle at you, adoration glowing in the cinnamon flecks you’re so fond of. “I haven’t changed out of my practice clothes yet.”

You raise your eyebrow. “What are you saying?”

“Will you do me the pleasure of allowing me to dance for you?”

You smile, “of course.”

* * *

It took hardly five minutes to replace your art desk, lamp, chair, shelf, and painting supplies back into their proper spaces by the great bay window at the front of the apartment. With your back to the window and the natural light falling in curls into the living room, casting tiny rainbow blurs on the carpet from the crystal in the windows, you organised your set up. Jimin played the music from his phone.

And he danced, a goofy grin pulling at the corners of his eyes and your heartstrings. His form bowed and turned, whirling in tune with the melodious notes, as you translated his motions into painted figures, watercolour dancers imprisoned in their own routine of illusion.

**Author's Note:**

> please comment <3


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